


The Scars That Bind

by vardas



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-19
Updated: 2012-05-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 15:09:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vardas/pseuds/vardas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Criminal Mind prompt meme round six</p><p>Garcia/Reid<br/>Scars</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scars That Bind

It takes him a long time to become accustomed to her invitations – to movies, to conventions, simply to her apartment for popcorn and a Firefly marathon. It takes him longer to realize he’s not an afterthought, a poor substitute for someone else, but that she genuinely enjoys his company on its own merits. And though Garcia teases gently as she disabuses him of the notion, Reid doesn’t consider it a mark against his genius. No one has ever just wanted him before, that’s all. Frankly, he’s still not certain what she intends to accomplish. Garcia would never do anything to cause him deliberate harm, and for the moment, he must be satisfied with that.

Today they are going to a convention of his own choosing. Garcia seemed absurdly pleased when he’d requested her company, though it should hardly have come as a surprise; they’ve been spending an ordinate amount of time together lately. JJ had been less than helpful, offering only, “Sometimes, a woman wants to be asked, Spence,” as her explanation. Now, standing awkwardly outside Garcia’s apartment, he mentally examines his last conversations with the technical analyst. It isn’t like her not to promptly answer the door -- he suspects in deference to his initially tentative approach. Cautiously, he tries the door, instinctively reaching for a weapon he isn’t carrying when it opens to silence. He steps into the room without hesitation, shutting the door gently behind him. It’s not as though he’s ever been a particularly gifted marksman, anyway; and if Penelope is in trouble, he won’t leave her to face it alone.

After a moment, he hears what sounds suspiciously like a sniffle coming from her bedroom. A line of crumpled tissues demarcates the half-open door; he nudges the empty box aside with the toe of his shoe as he opens it the rest of the way. He isn’t sure which of them looks more startled – Penelope, half-dressed, sitting on her bed amid a sea of jewel toned clothing; or himself, already feeling the blush blooming along his high cheekbones. Still, her face is streaked with the remnants of her make-up, and concern rapidly trumps his sense of embarrassment. 

“Pen?” he says, half questioning. Garcia hugs a pillow tighter to her chest in a defensive gesture, but beckons him closer, until he perches at the edge of the plush mattress. 

“I’m sorry. I know we’re late,” she says, voice wavering a little.

Reid waves away the apology. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.” She surveys the wreckage of her room. “I just . . . . wanted to look right.”

“You always look right.” He’s admittedly puzzled. “You look like you.”

She smiles and squeezes his hand. “And you’re a sweety to think so, but sometimes a girl just wants to make the extra effort to look her best.”

He considers the evidence before stating slowly, “Because this is the first time I’ve initated a date?” He smiles a little as she stares back at him with apparent shock. “I’m a profiler, Pen. I may rarely have a need to apply those skills to my personal life, but reading people is what I do.”

“I’ve underestimated you, Dr. Reid.” Her smile is a shadow of its former self, but he’ll take what he can get. “Well, if we want to get this show on the road, just let me change . . .” She hesitates, and her face crumples. “I don’t know what to wear.”

Reid looks over the potential choices with a discerning eye. “That one is your favorite first date shirt,” he suggests. To his surprise, her eyes fill with tears again, and she turns her face away.

“I can’t wear that one.”

“Because you wish I were someone else?” He’s surprised by how much the idea hurts, deep down in his chest where his heart should be.

“No!” Penelope catches his hand when he tries to get up, pulling him back down beside her. “Never, ever think that, Spencer.”

The sincerity in her eyes soothes the most ragged edges of his anxiety, but the puzzle remains. “Then why?”

“Because . . .” she hesitates, then pulls open the top edge of her bathrobe. Even given the present circumstances, for a moment he allows himself to be distracted by the expanse of pale skin; before he pulls back enough to realize she’s indicating the starburst scar on her chest.

“In most of my clothes, you don’t see it, but in that one you can, a little. And then I couldn’t . . . I hate letting him take something else away from me, that’s all.”

Silently Spencer unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt, rolling the sleeves past his elbows. In the dim light, even he can’t see them; but as he guides her fingers to the crook of his arm, he knows she can feel the scars. 

“They’re scars because we lived, Pen. Never be ashamed of them. He didn’t win, because you live.”

Oddly enough, when they stroll through the doors together Monday morning, no one asks about the convention. Just as well, Spencer muses. He doesn’t lie worth a damn.


End file.
